


Where I Am Home

by ofthesun



Category: Issues (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Christianity, Gen, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religion, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5486723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofthesun/pseuds/ofthesun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everybody gets the happy ending they deserve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where I Am Home

Michael met Tyler when the younger was a wide-eyed, lanky freshman. Tyler tripped over his own shoelaces and abided by a curfew of seven in the evening. Michael was elder and larger, towering over the small boy and possessing the physical strength to knock someone Tyler's size over with a single touch. When they met, Tyler still did all of his homework and went to church every Sunday with his family.

It was disgustingly cliché - Michael was mucking around with his friends in the hallway, not paying any attention to where he was going, when he slammed into a little body, sending the mystery person and all of their things sprawling out across the corridor floor. Michael's friends rolled their eyes and laughed at the kid who now sat on the floor, fumbling to gather his books thrown askew. A sense of guilt washed over Michael, and he raced to grab the boy's belongings and return them to him.

"Th- um, thank you," the small kid squeaked. Michael had smiled weakly in response. He introduced himself, and learned that the boy was named Tyler, and had moved into the city from some small, nameless suburb. Tyler was little and had proportionally over-sized, blue eyes that read nothing but that of pure innocence.

Michael knew he should stay away from Tyler. He knew he shouldn't let a good kid get tangled up with his reckless lifestyle. But he couldn't help himself - all he ever hung out with were drugged-up hippies and musicians who weren't going anywhere except their parents' basements, and the idea of having someone around who wasn't like that, was a breath of fresh air.

Tyler didn't know any better. He'd grown up attending a private, religious school, and as much as he'd ever known, there was no such thing as someone who was "bad news", per say. He'd met some bullies in his life, sure, but he was raised to see the good in everyone, even if they spent every day of their lives sinning and defying God. So even if Michael did smell an awful lot like the cigarettes he was told to avoid at all costs, and even if he was failing all of his courses, Tyler just figured he was probably still a good person, just didn't show it very well.

***

Tyler had a hard time making friends. He tried to befriend anyone in his classes, but nobody wanted to be associated with the uptight religious-freak. It didn't help that he was in advanced classes and surrounded by upperclassmen, who made Tyler the butts of their jokes and back-talked to instructors. He couldn't stand these kids - they were of average intelligence and were about as mature as his ten-year-old brother.

Tyler preferred being around Michael and the elder's group of friends. They weren't the sharpest of minds - at least, that's what their progress reports said - but they were nice and friendly, and knew a lot about life and the world they lived in. Josh grew up on the streets and could tell you every active gang in Atlanta, what they were known for doing, and how to avoid them. Ty and Sky had a religious background as strong as Tyler's, but learned to break out and independently form into their own selves, with their own beliefs and knowledge.

"You're like a tourist in your own life," Ty had said of Tyler. At the time, Tyler didn't understand what that meant, but he would in time.

***

Tyler learned what people meant when they said someone was a "bad influence" one Saturday night when Michael asked him to come over and hang out with his friends. Tyler was the youngest there, a mere three months younger than AJ, the only other freshman invited. The house smelled like some drug that Tyler couldn't put a name to, and cigarette butts and broken beer bottle remains were strewn everywhere he looked. The house was a wreck, but he just assumed that Michael's parents had different values and traditions than Tyler's parents.  _ It's just unconventional parenting, _ he reassured himself, just in case his parents questioned the smell that would linger on him when he got home.

Josh was a funny drunk. He laughed manically and slurred and gripped Ty's shirt sleeve for support. He stumbled over his own feet and texted his sister six times, asking if she would get him a bagel the next morning. Tyler liked Josh drunk.

Sky was an emotional drunk. He sat on the floor and cried over some girl who broke up with him two years ago. He screamed out to the ceiling, something about what had gone wrong, and Tyler just stared at him blankly, uncertain if he should respond to or help him. Michael just told him to ignore their friend, muttering about him always acting like this when he drank more than two shots.

Tyler did his best to fit in with the older boys. He listened to their conversations and made sure to laugh at all the right times and speak up with simple answers when he was spoken to. He didn't speak up when Ty said Tyler needed to try some alcohol, and he kept his silence when Michael poured him a shot. He grasped the small paper cup in his hand and put it to his lips, sipping up a minuscule amount and cringing at the taste. He reddened when they laughed at his reaction, and paid close attention to how Josh drank a shot, mimicking the way he tipped his head back and quickly dumped the contents of the cup down his throat. The liquid burned and Tyler didn't know why they all liked it so much. But he just smiled and said it was okay and didn't say anything as Michael poured him another.

It was getting late and Tyler couldn't even count how many of the shots he had drank. He felt his balance begin to go slightly off and realised he could no longer stand on his own two feet without stumbling and falling and he fumbled to grab on to his surroundings in attempt to keep himself up. He tried to talk but all that came out were slurred, incoherent sounds that didn't make any sense, and the people around him just laughed at his feeble attempts at speech. Tyler felt his stomach jump to his throat and he gripped the nearest waste-basket, vomiting up nothing but pure bile. His eyes were bloodshot and his throat burned red and raw from the alcohol-induced sickness.

Michael pitied the poor kid momentarily, but remembered that everyone needs to have their first time drunk to learn their limit. He kept his hand on Tyler's back as the younger continued to heave and puke, rubbing his back in a weak attempt of empathy. His watch beeped, signifying ten at night, and vaguely recalled Tyler mentioning that his mother wanted him home by a certain time. Michael grabbed Tyler's phone, shooting off a text to his mother asking what time he needed to be home. Thankfully, Tyler's mom replied saying any time tomorrow afternoon. He flickered his eyes over to Ty and Sky, who had to get home by 10:30, and waved sympathetically at Ty as he struggled to support his drunken twin's body weight. Michael heard a hack and returned his attention to Tyler who had stopped vomiting, and now had tears threatening to fall from his eyes and a bottom lip that begun to quiver.

"My - my - my mom, she told me not to, she told me not to, I'm not s'posed to do this, she told me not to," Tyler struggled to articulate and find words, and Michael just pulled him into his shoulder, tightening his arms around the boy's back as he started to sob.

"My mom - she's, she's gonna be so mad," he slurred between his weeping. Michael continued to hold him and gently stroked his back. He glanced around Tyler's head to spot Josh passed out across the room, and sighed. He looked further and couldn't even seem to locate where exactly the other freshman, AJ, was in the room. He sat in stillness, the only sound audible was Tyler's cries that slowly began to fade out, ending with one final sob before he drifted out of consciousness and left a dead weight in Michael's arms. Michael stared at the tiny body he held and smiled wearily before closing his own eyes and finding peace.

***

Tyler was two months into high school and he was already starting to go through an adolescent crisis. He struggled to keep his grades up at A's and spent hours every night doing homework. His parents were becoming concerned as he spent less time at home on weekends, because usually, he was away at Michael's or the Acord's, screwing around and listening to music and sometimes, drinking a bit. By a bit, he means that he had figured out how many shots he could drink without vomiting and the others kept track of how many he had drank to make sure he didn't get past it.

Because even if Tyler could get as drunk as them and was beginning to learn the ways of a high school student, in the group of friends' eyes, he was still the baby; he still possessed a certain amount of innocence and the older boys were set on making sure he kept that, at least through the duration of his first semester. Ty still coughed to change the subject any time a mature topic came up and Josh covered Tyler's ears and tried to whisk him out of the room whenever Michael would get upset and yell and shout.

Tyler wanted to fit in, he wanted to understand; he just wanted to belong somewhere. He didn't like being the baby. He didn't like the way that his elder friends danced around certain subjects if he was in earshot and he loathed the way everyone tried to keep him away from Michael at certain times. He was drawn to the older boy in an innocently curious way, and god, he just wanted to be around him all the time and soak up everything he said like a sponge. Michael fascinated Tyler, in his tall, awkward stature. He said some of the strangest, unconventionally interesting things, and Tyler could never seem to get enough of him. He ignored what everyone told him about how Michael was toxic and his lifestyle was dangerous and that getting close to him would involve getting dragged into his consistently downhill life.

***

November came on and Tyler slowly dove deeper and deeper into his confusion and helplessness. He got a B+ in his math class and his mom banned him from going to his friends' houses.

"That Michael boy," she had groaned as she pointed an accusing finger at Tyler, who was sprawled across the couch reading one afternoon, "he's why you're doing so poorly in math. Maybe if you spent as much time studying as you did with him, you would be acing the course, easily." Tyler quietly shut his book and rolled over onto his back, staring intently into the chipping white paint on the ceiling. He half-listened to his mother go off on a tangent of what on earth he could possibly be doing in all the time he logged at Michael's house, but shut his eyes and repainted the picture in his mind of Sky attempting to braid his hair last weekend and how Michael and Ty had laughed so hard they cried, and Sky had to cut a chunk of his hair out because of the failed braids. For once, he tuned out his mother's words.

Ten-pm one night found Tyler digging through his bag from the last time he'd been at Michael's, weeks ago. His fingers wrapped around a small piece of glass, obviously from one of the many broken bottles thrown askew around Michael's house. He pulled it out and glanced at it, flipping it around between his fingers. His ran his index finger across the edge and gasped quietly when it dug into his finger pad and blood leaked out, dripping down his finger in small drops. He stared at it for a moment, instantaneously captivated by the power he held, sourcing from the glass chunk he carried in his hand. He silently rummaged through his desk drawer with his other hand, fumbling around to find a bandage to care for his tiny injury. After bandaging the cut, he slid the glass into the same drawer, turning out the light and rolling over onto his other side and closing his eyes wearily.

The wound on his finger wouldn't be the last one Tyler received from that piece of glass.

***

Tyler knew vaguely self-harm was because he'd seen the slits on AJ's upper arm and watched as everyone's worry for him worsened. He could clearly recall the first time he saw Ty cry was when AJ relapsed after a few weeks. He can still picture the tissues saturated with blood buried under empty bottles in the waste-basket. And he can't shake the scene where Michael and Sky engaged in a screaming match over the other boy and how Tyler held AJ's hand while Josh tried to talk loudly enough to drown out their friends' distressed shouts.

But what Tyler was doing wasn't self-harm. He had simply made a routine of examining the piece of glass a few times a week, and fairly regularly, slipping with his grip on the chunk and unintentionally cutting up his hand a bit. He wasn't trying to hurt himself. He just took care of the cuts and continued to go through his life, even with a hand covered in bandages to conceal the growing number of small wounds.

Well, it wasn't self-harm in Tyler's eyes. When Michael asked him what kept happening to his hand, he just innocently explained that he was accidentally getting cut on glass sometimes. Michael had cringed and sighed shakily, requesting the item in question. Tyler dropped the piece of glass in Michael's palm, and Michael squeezed it so hard that blood began to drip from his own palm. He didn't mind the pain, though. The important thing was that he was keeping Tyler safe.

***

Tyler was becoming very lost, very fast. Months were passing quicker than he could remember them and he could hardly remember what happened in the duration of them any more. They were a blur, with a few clear spots in them - strangely significant small moments that embossed themselves vibrantly into his memory. He couldn't seem to remember what grade he got on his huge math test last week, but he felt Michael's fingers tracing the visible veins in his forearms and smelled the mixture of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne that was Michael.

He didn't understand it, and that scared the shit out of him. Because Tyler wasn't used to this sort of sporadic lifestyle. He'd been raised in an organised, strict, Catholic household and private school was just as followed. Public school was different. There was no sheep mentality and everybody came from a different kind of home with different views and cultures and personalities. And yeah, he liked the variety a lot better, but it was messing with his head. He didn't live a formulaic life any more, and he was struggling to adjust and process all this.

***

Michael had a bad life at home, and as much as he concealed it to avoid making a big deal out of it, nothing stopped the way his mother spit insults at him like poison and he still found himself in his bedroom at two in the morning with an internet history of searches on suicide methods. But he always closed out the page and cleared his history as soon as his fingers fell upon the broken glass he had taken from Tyler that night in December.

Michael was not going to let Tyler down.

***

Tyler's first kiss wasn't what he expected at all, if he's honest.

His friends were hanging out in the Acord's basement one weekend with some of the older boys' other friends - girls and guys. Nobody drank  _ that _ much, thankfully, but as any stereotypical mixed party, at a fairly late hour, the group decided to play spin the bottle. They laid themselves out in a circle with one of their empty beer bottles, spinning and laughing and kissing each other. Awhile into the game, AJ spun the bottle after making out with some senior girl. The bottle landed on Tyler, and they rolled with it, despite Tyler's jumbled nerves. The kiss wasn't anything special; it didn't mean anything, and it was all awkward bumping teeth and giggles and light-hearted jabs at how awful of a kisser the other was.

Luckily for Tyler, he never got landed on again after that, and he wasn't stuck into any other grossly awkward exchanges; instead, left to ponder and process his thoughts and emotions regarding the kiss he'd just shared with one of his good friends. He didn't feel anything towards AJ romantically, and that single, awkward kiss was probably not a good testament to his sexuality, but he was young, dumb, and curious.

***

Tyler realised he was gay one weekend in February. He was spending the night at Michael's on Friday, and it was near 3am. They weren't drunk, no, but they were talking about life, and all the things they'd never told anyone.

"Do you remember that time I kissed AJ?" Tyler asked, seated on the floor and leaning up against the wall. Michael mirrored his position, and with shut eyes, nodded, and mumbled in agreement.

"I don't know what it was, but something about that was different, you know?" Tyler murmured, "AJ was a terrible kisser, but something about it felt right. Not kissing  _ AJ _ , but something else." Michael sat up straight, snapping his eyes open.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he nodded. Tyler caught his lip between his teeth, breathing audibly. His mind raced. He turned to look at his best friend, sitting next to him. Michael stared back at him, eyes half-open. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Tyler's. The moment was fleeting, precious, and far from awkward. It felt safe, it felt right, and it felt like home. As they parted, they rebuilt eye contact.

"Tyler, are you gay?" Michael whispered. Tyler's eyes widened, and he jumped back. He started to breathe rapidly, and he shook his head furiously.

"No," he said, his voice dripping terror, "no, no,  _ no _ , I'm not gay, I can't be."

"Tyler, calm down," Michael said, grabbing Tyler by the shoulders as he panicked. He pulled the smaller boy into his chest and felt his body begin to rack with sobs. They sat there for awhile, just letting the moment ride out as Tyler cried out a horrific mix of confusion, fear, and anxiety. After some time, Tyler's eyes began to dry up and his violent shaking gradually came to a halt. He lifted his face from the crook of Michael's neck and breathed out loudly.

"Michael, I-" Tyler started, cutting himself off with a sharp exhale.

"It's okay, Tyler, it's okay not to know," Michael said quietly, rubbing Tyler's shoulder with his hand. They sit in the silence for a beat.

"I- I do know," Tyler's voice wobbled out, "I'm just so scared, so fucking scared of what'll happen. It's just - I really, really liked that kiss. And the one with AJ. More than I should have. Boys aren't supposed to like boys, that's what they always tell me, boys have to like girls. And I don't know what to do any more, because I don't like girls, not at all." Michael listened quietly, nodding without a word.

"I know that your parents and your church and absolutely everyone around you is telling you it's wrong. But please, Tyler, please, just tune that out for a minute. It's not about what they think. It's about how you feel, and what you want. And if you don't like girls, you shouldn't waste your life away pursuing one just because everyone else thinks it's right," he explained, "Sometimes the only way to be happy is to do things for yourself, and not for anybody else. So please, don't think of it as what's supposed to happen, or what you need to do to prove yourself to them or something - think of it as what you want, and what's going to make you the happiest." Tyler sat in the silence, absorbing Michael's words and processing them. As long as he could remember, he'd never really liked anyone - although, looking back on it now, that was because he didn't think he could like anyone besides girls. He didn't know that he wasn't forced to conform to the standards of the church and his family. He just assumed if he didn't like a girl, he had to find one he could at least tolerate enough to raise a family with and spend his life with. He hadn't even been aware people who weren't straight existed until high school, let alone known it was a possibility in his own life. And the pieces slowly started to fit together. Why Michael fascinated him so much in such an odd way that'd been beyond his comprehension - he was coming to understand that there was a reason for that. It was the first time he'd ever genuinely felt infatuation. Tyler took a deep breath.

"Michael," he whispered, "I think I'm gay."

***

The month Tyler came out at home was the roughest one he'd ever endured. The cold, emotionless stare and the harsh silence his father had granted him were permanently ingrained into his memory, every detail clear as day. He still remembers the tears that filled his mother's eyes when she realised he was not playing some sort of sick joke, and her cries and pleads, begging him to acknowledge that it was a phase, and he wouldn't feel the same in a year or so. As hard as he tries, he can't seem to shake off the painful memory of going to church with his family that chilly weekend in March, and the way that the sense of belonging he had always had in church seemed to suddenly evaporate with his family's new knowledge of his sexuality.

Tyler didn't come home the following Friday night. His parents hadn't talked to him all week, and his younger siblings had been instructed to avoid him at all costs. He went to what he was learning to call home - Michael's house. Somehow, the rundown house that reeked of marijuana and body odor felt so much more welcoming than his. He cried that night, harder than he'd ever cried. He sobbed into Michael's bare shoulder, while the elder held him close and rocked him back and forth until he faded out from crying into sleeping. And even still, he still kept his arms wrapped around the young boy's sleeping frame, at peace for once.

***

It's not that suicide seemed like a good way out, or even an easy one - it's that it seemed like it was the only one.

Michael spent months upon months leading up to the date carefully laying out every detail of his escape plan. He scrawled note after note and burned a number of copies over the lighter at ungodly hours of the morning. Michael went through every page on the Internet looking for the simplest, cleanest method of going through it. He asked people who had previously attempted what had worked and what hadn't. He scrolled through long lists of memorials for suicide victims, and denoted the most commonly used and best-working methods.

Michael made sure to think of everything in his plan, not wanting to leave anything up to debate of the people who surrounded him in his life. He wrote out a will - the best attempt at a "will" that a seventeen-year-old could possibly think up - and did his best to include every little thing possible. He wanted his belongings to be sold, and the money made donated to charities supporting LGBT youth.

Maybe the people he was close to should have known something of his plan - Michael collected sharp objects and ropes and large masses of pills in the months of preparation, leaving himself options for how he would go out. His friends probably should've thought something of it when he asked how many Advil could one take before it'd be deemed an overdose. His history instructor really should've taken a little more consideration into it when he commented that the teenager's pencil sharpeners had no blades in them.

Michael tried everything he could to find a way out of it - tried all the Internet's suicide prevention methods, called all the helplines, posted out to all the therapeutic forums in a desperate cry to save his own life. His mind was made up. Dying scared the shit out of him, but he knew if he didn't do it now and get it over with, he'd go out into life after high school and end up dead on the streets within a few years. He had no future - his grades were horrendous, he had no skills to enter himself into the workforce, and his mother wanted him out as soon as he turned eighteen. He would be lucky if he even got his high school diploma. He knew he wouldn't live five years past graduation, and he'd rather die at his own hand than of starvation or hypothermia or whatever would get him on the streets. He'd never had control in his entire life, and this was a final grab, a final opportunity to be the controller, to hold his own life in the palm of his hand and be the decider of what was to come for him.

Five weeks before the end of the school year, Michael tied a rope to the ceiling fan in the entry room of his house. He slipped his head through the noose and kicked the chair down, and that was it. He was dead; gone in an instant, and to be forgotten almost entirely within two or three years of his passing.

Of course, it wasn't that easy. His group of friends noticed he wasn't at school on Monday and that he wasn't answering any texts, so Sky and Tyler decided to go by his house after school and see how he was doing. They opened the door to the house and Michael's limp, already-decaying body lay on the floor of the foyer; a rope looped around his neck and half of the broken ceiling fan lying atop him. Tyler screamed, stepped backwards, and threw himself down the stairs of the porch. Sky gasped, stepping quietly into the room in shock. He stared at the body for a moment before pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialling 911.

"My best friend, Michael Bohn, he's 17 and I just found him dead on the floor of his house... There's a rope and a broken ceiling fan next to him - he killed himself, he killed himself, he killed himself," he iterated erratically into the phone, his voice shaking. The 911 operator tried to ask him questions about what he knew had happened, who was there, etcetera, but all Sky could manage was to repeat the words  _ he killed himself _ , stuttering and wobbling more each time he said it. Tyler was still lying on the grass in front of the porch, screaming out in terror. The ambulance and police cars showed up momentarily, and they ran into the house, as if there was still some time-sensitive way to save Michael's life. Some of the paramedics lifted Tyler up and tried to talk to him, but he just kept screaming; so, so loud. The neighbours began coming out of their houses to try to find out what was going on. Sky managed to stop uttering those three words and called their other friends, that they needed to get there right fucking now, that something had happened to Michael. The police carried Michael's lifeless body out of the house in a body bag, and Tyler let out one final screech before going entirely silent. He wouldn't speak again for at least a day.

Ty had picked up Josh and AJ and driven to Michael's house, and when they got there, they hadn't really been expecting police cars and ambulances, to say the least. Sky managed to utter out some words, unable to form a proper sentence, trying to tell them that Michael was dead. But as soon as they could see through the door and see only half of the ceiling fan still attached to the ceiling, they knew enough. AJ burst into tears, wrapping himself around Josh, who stared out blankly in horror and shock. Ty walked around them to pull his brother into a hug. The four stood together quietly grieving, mourning, and comprehending what had happened. Tyler was in the ambulance as the paramedics continued to unsuccessfully attempt to talk to him about what had happened. He tried to speak, but he couldn't. He didn't believe Michael could be dead, let alone from suicide.

He refused to.

***

The next morning, the announcement came over the speaker that a beloved student by the name of Michael Bohn had tragically committed suicide over the weekend. His friends had stayed out of school for the day, gathering in the Acord's basement to grieve together, so thankfully, they weren't there to see the confused glances and thoughtless shrugs of classmates who'd never known Michael to be anything more than just one of those stoner hooligans.

Meanwhile, at the Acord's there was nothing but mourning and grieving who Michael truly had been. The others had been exchanging memories and makeshift eulogies of him all day when Tyler, who'd been silent since that final scream, spoke up.

"Of all the people in this world, Michael deserved this, this shit the least. He was such a good fucking person, and nobody ever saw it in him. Everyone just thought he was a stupid stoner that didn't do anything, and god, he was so much more than that. He never wanted to hurt anybody. He just wanted a bit of happiness. He deserved so much better than what this awful fucking world gave to him. He was so goddamn compassionate and loving and understanding and he was the last person to judge you for anything. You could tell him you were into practising orthodox Mormonism and he'd tell you if you wanted to do it, that's awesome and you should go for it. And yet every single fucking person in this world passed judgement on him just because he liked getting drunk and high for fun. And I despise who I was when I met him, because I was scared of him, just because he was different from what I knew. And he- he was okay with that. He never passed judgement on me over anything, even when I was straight-up awful to him. He was so, so good, and he didn't deserve any of this," he rambled out, choking on a few words. The group mumbled out vague agreement.

Later that evening, Sky drove the group to the police station to get updates on Michael.

"We've obviously already ruled that it was suicide by hanging, but we discovered a few other things while we were searching his body and the home. First things, were any of you aware he was living in an abusive home? We discovered bruises all over his body as well as journal entries detailing verbal and physical abuse from his mother," one of the officers prompted. The group shook their heads - some of them had vague ideas, but never enough to consider reporting it to authorities.

"Alright. We additionally found what appears to be a suicide note in his journal. It's addressed to Tyler - would that be one of you?" the officer asked. Tyler stepped forward, nodding slowly. "We've already screened it in order to make sure there is no vital evidence on it, but you still need to return it immediately after reading over it. The officer handed Tyler a plastic bag with a small piece of paper in it. He sat down to read it.

_ Tyler, _

_ I am so fucking sorry for letting you down this time. This isn't meant to hurt you, or Sky, Ty, AJ, or Josh. I just can't live any more - besides you guys, there's nothing here for me. I have no home, no future, no family, and no career. Maybe I was never destined to grow old enough to even have to make this decision. The point is, I am going somewhere that I belong, and somewhere that has hope for me. I am going where I am home. Just give me this: don't do anything stupid, and don't take this as a sign that you should even consider offing yourself. You have a future - you're smart, you're talented, you're kind. I promise you, there is so much more to this world that you haven't seen yet, and it's just waiting for you to reach out for it. _

_ With love, _

_ Michael _


End file.
